


Boy Problems

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bellissimo Son Of A Mama, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Oneshot, Pidge Has Depression, Rated T for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So at 7PM on a goddamn 80-degree Sunday in the first week of August, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance all rode their bikes to some school they don't even go to. Pidge has somehow caught feelings for Hunk. It would be a lot easier to surpress them if Hunk weren't so goddamn perfect all the time.





	Boy Problems

It’s been one of those lazy summer weekends where nothing’s happened at all. All three of them are trying to ignore the fact that school starts again in a couple weeks. And what better way to forget about school than by going to another school?

So at 7PM on a goddamn 80-degree Sunday, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance all rode their bikes to West Desert High’s rival school, East Desert High. Creative. Correction— Pidge and Hunk rode their bikes. Lance rode his skateboard in case any girls saw them when they stopped by the main street to buy drinks from the convenience store. Any girls who might’ve seen them remained nonplussed.

It’s seven fucking PM and the sun’s still up, and that makes sense because it’s summer. But why is it still 80 degrees? Fuckin’ global warming, that’s why. _God_.

Right now, Pidge is sitting at a green molded plastic lunch table with Hunk in the back of the school as Lance practices skateboard tricks on the basketball court. Her and Hunk are talking about musical theatre or something. Every once in awhile, Lance yells out, “Hey, I did it!” after perfecting some useless maneuver, and Hunk starts applauding and yelling praises, and Pidge waves her hand up with an unenthusiastic “Woo.”

Frankly, Pidge is tired. There are many good reasons why Pidge is tired: the most obvious is the fact that the one-and-a-half mile bike ride here was probably the most strenuous physical exercise she’s gotten in at least a year. She’d complained the entire time, but she doesn’t have many opportunities to hang around with her favorite dickwads outside of the Voltron internship, so she powered through it somehow.

The second reason why Pidge is tired is because of depression. Ah, yes, depression; that fun little disorder that worms its way into your brain sometime between childhood and your teenage years that makes you spend all of your free time playing MMOs and eating Ritz Bitz and complaining about jarred pasta sauce on internet forums in your dark bedroom without moving or showering. It always gets worse when school starts. Pidge knows it’ll get worse soon. She knows she’ll start getting awful thoughts when finals roll around, and she knows it’ll freak out all her friends—

“Hey, you good?” asks Hunk, stopping in the middle of a rant about how bad of a show _Cats_ is. “You’re kinda…” He waves a wide hand over his own face. The sun’s glowing amber behind him, making everything look gold, illuminating his outline. “You were drifting away for a sec there.”

That’s the third reason why Pidge is tired. She’s got a massive crush on one of her closest friends.

Then again— how could you _not_ have a crush on Hunk Garrett? He’s the greatest human being in existence. He’s perfect. He’s all big and sweet and smart and he knows how to cook. On that thought, Pidge suddenly has a flash of a black-and-white 50’s sitcom where she comes home from work and hangs up her porkpie hat and sets down her briefcase to find Hunk waiting happily in the kitchen with a hot dinner in a floral print dress and a frilly “ _Kiss The Cook_ ” apron. So of course, she does what the apron says, because she’s never been one to disobey the orders of an apron—

“There, look! You just did it again,” Hunk says, pointing at her. “You seem kind of out of it today, dude. Do you think you got heat stroke or something?”

Pidge clutches her plastic bottle of jasmine iced tea a little harder at that. She loves this friendship. She fucking _loves_ this friendship, so how come she feels so trapped whenever he calls her things like “ _dude_ ”?

Pidge just sighs a little, scanning the school courtyard again. She catches a glimpse of Lance tripping over his long legs and falling face-first into the worn asphalt, the skateboard shooting out from underneath him. She looks over the green of the school’s soccer field, remembering when she was little and she _wanted_ to run around and ride bikes with Matt and go out in the sun. She could do anything back then. What _happened_?

And then she looks back to Hunk, who seems to be glowing more and more as the sun sets. He squints back at her comically, deftly fixing his headband back up in an instant. He’s got skilled hands. Pidge’s heart suddenly aches in a way that she can’t describe.

So she takes a good look at him, puts her elbow on the table, leans in and purposefully says, “Hunk, you are the handsomest sonofabitch I have ever seen in my life.” She closes her eyes and takes a long sip of her iced tea afterwards, revelling in the silence before swallowing and wiping her mouth and saying, “I will never say that or anything like it to you ever again for all of eternity, so make sure you appreciate it, alright?”

She pushes her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose afterwards. Hunk’s eyes are all wide. Shit, she shouldn’t’ve said that. He still isn’t saying anything. Shit, shit, _shit_. That’s what Pidge gets for getting all nostalgic for a minute there, isn’t it? That’s what Pidge gets for having feelings. Pidge fucking hates having feelings. _Fuck_.

“... You forget how to speak or something, Einstein?” Pidge jokes, and they joke around like that all the time, so she knows it won’t be hurtful or anything. She’s totally fucking bluffing with this whole confident nonchalance. She hopes he doesn’t see through it, but he knows her so well that he’s probably staring into her soul right now.

Hunk shakes his head fervently. What the fuck, is he _blushing_? “N-no,” he puts a hand on his chin, looking down through the grating of the table, “I just don’t really… get why you’d say that? You never say stuff like that. About _anybody_. Like, are you.. uh, are you serious? Or are you messing with me?”

Pidge snorts, taken aback. “Are _you_ serious?”

He stares blankly. “... Yeah?”

“I’m dead-fuckin’-serious, Hunk.” He stares. Fuck. “A-and it took guts to tell you that kind of shit, so. Don’t let my act of kindness go unnoticed.” She takes another sip of her iced tea.

Hunk stares some more. Then he laughs a little. Then he turns and scratches his neck, shaking his head again. “Well, um… I… you’re handsomer, so I dunno why you would, uh. Think of me like that.”

Pidge’s mouth opens. The iced tea falls out and gets all over her thrift store iCarly t-shirt.

“But, like, the craziest thing is how you’re handsome in your mannerisms and stuff, and then you’re, like, weirdly _pretty_ on top of it, with your eyes and everything,” Hunk continues, thoroughly destroying Pidge on impact, “and then you’re, uh, real cute, too. Like the way your hair flips out at the ends. And how you totally light up when you’re telling me about something you care about. You’re a bunch of different kinds of good-looking, is what I’m trying to say. A-and that’s a good thing in my book. In _anybody’s_ book, really.” He’s shaking. “... Did I— did I say that right? I don't think I said any of that right.”

Hunk is saying all of this shit about a sweaty girl in a bargain bin shirt for a cancelled sitcom with iced tea dribbling down her face. Pidge wants to grab him by his collar and yell, “ _You are fucking delusional_ ,” but her heart is thrumming so goddamn fast that she just wants to do something utterly stupid instead. Just to try and make use of this good luck.

So she wipes off her mouth with her forearm and grabs him by his collar over the table with the very little upper body strength she possesses and gives him a soft kiss. It’s like somehow both of them weren’t quite ready for it even though it was obviously initiated. It’s probably too quick and too slight to be considered anything more than chaste, but _God_ does it feel fucking amazing right then, right as the sun sets all bright and orange and nostalgic, right over a stupid goddamn green plastic lunch table at a school that none of them go to.

It ends after, like, two seconds. They both sit back down. Pidge fidgets with the iced tea bottle and looks straight down at her beat-up white Converse with those stupid S-symbols that Lance drew on with Sharpie during homeroom Freshman year. She can feel Hunk staring at her, wide-eyed.

“Yo, guys, check it out— I just did the _sickest_ ollie!” yells Lance, echoing over concrete.

Hunk starts applauding, but he’s still staring directly at Pidge.


End file.
